Precious Hallucinations
by Mookyul Kenji
Summary: AU. Angst-y plot. Len is a teenage boy. On depressing day, he finds the Vocaloids on his computer, and immediately feels a connection. His life starts to spiral out of control, and he becomes dependant on the android's voices, his only lifeline to sanity. But he fixates on the blue Vocaloid most of all.. Kaito/Len. Strictly shonen-ai. Suicidal themes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I do not own any of the Vocaloids.**

**AU. Angst-y plot. I was a bit emotional when I wrote this, so please excuse any overly dramatic writing.**

**Summary - Len is a teenage boy. On a severely depressing day, he inadvertantly finds the Vocaloids on his computer, and immediately feels a connection. His life starts to spiral out of control, and he becomes dependant on the android's voices, his only lifeline to sanity. But he fixates on the blue Vocaloid most of all...**

**Kaito/Len. Strictly shonen-ai, in the very end. If you don't support yaoi, I suppose you could squint and just see them as really good friends.**

**Suicidal themes.**

Chapter 1

Today is a new day. Today is not like yesterday. I will not remember yesterday. Yesterday did not happen.

Today is a new day.

I pull the covers down from over my ears, allowing myself to breathe freely once again. The stale air under the blankets had been stifling. I inhale and exhale a few times, in an effort to calm my fraying nerves. My eyes are puffy and red. I don't even need a mirror to see them. I can just tell.

I slide my feet out from under the blankets, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes. I comb my hair down with my fingers. The absurdly blonde locks stick up at angles I didn't even think possible, refusing to tone down in even the slightest bit. Stupid hair.

I yank at a particularly unruly piece, nearly tearing the hair out of my skull. The pain makes me wince. I look around my tiny room, and my eyes fall on a pair of scissors.

Stupid, stupid hair.

I contemplate cutting it all off. My hair, one of the only things people like about me. One of the only things good.

I raise the scissor blades.

But what would people say? Would they be mad? Would they try to make me grow it back? Would they push and shove me, and call me names?

I lower the scissor blades to my throat.

My voice can't grow back. I could punish them, I could take away my dumb singing ability, make it so they never heard me again.

I press the scissors to my soft flesh. The blade is freezing, like ice, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I slowly slide the metal across my skin, tearing a line down porcelin flesh, the sting making my eyes water.

I _deserve_ this.

I'm doing them a favor.

I'm getting rid of myself before they do.

Worthless.

Stupid.

Faggot.

The blade slices open another thin line, deeper. Blood begins to flow freely. I don't even move to catch the liquid, letting it drip to the carpet. Staining it red.

I begin to cry. Heavy, racking sobs, that my entire body surrenders to.

I'm going to die here. In this room. Before they get me. Before the pain gets worse.

I'm going to die.

The inevitable darkness around me seems to fade for a second. A light shines in my face, and I recoil, pain searing through me as my neck jerks backwards and tears the broken skin further. The bleeding is worse. I feel the warmth of the blood going down me. A memory begins to kick in, showing through the light. But this is no warm, inviting sunlight. No, this is a cold and foreboding light, one that makes you want to squeeze your eyes tight and curl up into a ball. It's so bright that I have to squint my eyes, even though I know I'm hallucinating. The memory plays itself, dancing in front of my eyes, toying with my sanity.

My face is shoved into a concrete wall. I hadn't enough time to brace myself, or even turn my head, so my nose dug straight into the hard surface. I could feel it break, it had shattered, I felt like my entire head had exploded open and spilled to the floor. I heard a deep, throaty laugh, one that made needles run up and down my spine. I grunted and raised my head, trying to catch the blood draining out of my nose, but I felt resistance. His boot was pressed on my back. He put his weight on that foot, and I struggled to breathe. A small noise invaded my ears, clawing at my mind, forcing me to recognize the voice. My old friend stood there, not five feet from where I lay, staring at me with horror and disgust. The boot on my back pressed me further into the ground. I gasped, and my friend shrunk back. I feel pain in the back of my head, so powerful that it tears me from conciousness. My last sight is my friend, glaring at me. His eyes smoulder with hatred. And I didn't blame him. I still don't. What kind of friend allows another friend see his father beat him?

The scissors press deeper, threateningly close to it's goal. I must get to it, my voice, must pull that stupid thing out of my body. Three cuts, each one deeper than the next, line my neck, spilling fresh blood. I start to feel faint. The next cut will do it.

I don't notice as my bedroom door is flung open. I don't hear my mother's scream. I don't react when she runs over, don't react when she tries to shake me awake. I stay in my trance. No one can find me here, in my wonderland. No one will hurt me when I'm dead.

My mother takes the scissors from me, and I'm yanked from my world. I begin to scream, at her, at them, at myself. I tell her to let me die. I feel her palm strike my face, I hear her yell. She says to stop being such a spoiled brat.

Of course. I have a family, a roof over my head, food, clean water... This sadness is unjustified, in so many ways. It still hurts, and the hurt is as real as the fresh cuts to my throat. The pain is there. And it won't go away. I want to die.

My mother takes my scissors. She slams the door, cursing at me. I curl up into a ball. My throat is still bleeding. But it's not enough. The cuts aren't deep enough, and no matter how long I let them go unchecked, I still won't bleed out. I know that. And it hurts, hurts more than the wounds, hurts more than death itself.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short. I just needed to publish ****_something_****, otherwise I never would.**

**Review, please! This is my very first fan-fic; I need help improving...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - Saving Blue**

When I open my eyes, my senses are suddenly assaulted by the unbearably bright morning outside. Harsh yellow light spills from the small window above my bed. A short moment of bittersweet peace washes through my body, one long second of silence. I use the sudden purity as motivation to sit up.

But that's all it takes, and yesterday comes crashing down on me. The aches, the sadness, the desperation...

The blood.

Nothing seems real right now. The room spins around me. Is this what it's like to be drunk? Did I have alcohol last night? If that was the case, wouldn't I have a hangover now?

The memories of last night are smudged together. I can't remember much.

Not that I want to remember.

I finger the dried blood caked on my neck. I never cleaned the cuts, but they closed up anyway. No thanks to my mother, my father, my sister.

Time is my savior, I guess. It really is the only constant.

I press my hands into the cuts. My cold, bony fingers wrap around my throat, cooling the feverish skin. I don't remember being sick.

Shivers runs down my spine, making my entire body tremble. I feel so small, so insignificant, so terrified. The room closes in on me. My breathing turns shallow.

Well. Time for school, I guess.

I throw on a ratty t-shirt and some shorts. A cheery logo throttles my torso, using the tattered white cloth to endorse some long-forgotten product. I stare in the mirror, and my eyes are immediately drawn to my reflection's disgusting mess of a neck. The coagulated blood runs up and down thin skin, webs of sickly veins glowing behind muddy scarlet. I attempt to scratch some off, and manage to dig a nail into the deepest cut, a huge curdled mass of blood at the base of my neck. Pain shoots up and down my arm. I start to choke on the feeling.

But it's so... Satisfying.

After being a half-ass and deciding to cover the scabs with a scarf, I make my way to school. Quick, quick, out the room, down the stairs, clear the threshold, fly off the doorstep.

Houses blur by, I feel like I'm floating. My mind shoots out of my body. I soar over houses, straight past the school, into the sky, up and up and up and OUT.

Stars bathe my feather-like body, warmth kissing pale skin. I drift on and on. Hours seem to pass.

"HEY, FUCKTARD! MOVE!" Someone slams into me. I trip, fall out of space, and end up straight on my backside.

Welcome back to Earth, Len Kagamine. Here's your present. You'll never guess what I got you! C'mon, guess! Guess!

No. Wrong. I got you motherfucking PAIN. Like it; or fucking KILL YOURSELF, you shitty emo TWAT.

Huh.

The voices in my head hate me. Not only that, but they seem to be freakishly bipolar and sarcastic.

Whatever.

I don't remember walking to my locker. But here I am. Oh well. I guess it happens. I'm sure this happens to EVERYONE. Right?

I accidentally slam the locker door on my hand.

Ow.

Maybe...

I should do it again-

"Nice scarf, faggot."

Oh. Oh no. No. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no.

"You don't mind if I borrow this, do you?"

And with that, I'm gone. My body erases itself.

A loud gasp resonates in front of me. The wall of fabric is ripped from my neck, tearing scabs from broken skin, raw flesh clings desperately to edges of the wounds. Dehydrated blood gives way to it's brighter crimson heir. My body starts to wither, to crack, and so does the world around me.

"H..Hu-... I-..." My lips move of their own accord. They draw themselves open, closed, open, and finally tightened back into my mouth like they'd been stung by candied sap of a lemon. I swallow my lips, letting the rest of my awareness follow. Once again, I am far above, looking down at my pitiful being as it struggles to cover the re-opened wounds on it's throat.

"F-Fuck... Y-You... Fuckin' little emo shit..." The assaulter backs up, disbelief sucking out their bravado. Their body unwilling mirrors my own, pain shooting into their eyes, hands held up and shaking. I smile warmly. It's nice to see such sympathy, although reflexive.

What a pitiful display. The broken, tainted, and bloody child, attempting a smile. Such a doleful curve of the lips.

This is absolute hell.

"Just... G-GO KILL YOURSELF!"

What a cliche. If only.

The assaulter runs off.

It's such a normal occurrence now.

Is it really that easy? To leave?

Even if you don't know me?

Even if you don't understand?

Do they never think about me?

Am I even in their thoughts as they run?

Am I in their memories?

Am I in their hearts?

Am I even in my own?

Home.

Dare I even think such a word?

How can this be home? I barely recognize it. I've lived here for my entire life, but am unable to sustain a constant mental picture.

Who cares?

All I know, is that this is my room. Even if it's not mine, it's mine. Even though that makes no sense, it's mine, and it's all I have.

It's all I have, and I hate it.

My eyes scroll up and down the computer screen. It's a terrible old thing, with a connection gleaned off the neighbor's wifi. Hacked into, back when I actually had the time and energy to care about my entertainment. Now, it just serves as a boon for my lack of purpose.

Music fills my ears, crackling through old-timey headphones I discovered in the garbage next to the music room at school. Supposedly, these things had such low quality, the music teacher spiked them in the rubbish bin.

Well, he didn't think anyone was watching when he did.

Of course. I was there.

And now I don't have to worry about my family scrutinizing my music taste. Hooray.

I look through my music. The playlist is filled by underground bands and songs, classical music, tons of acoustic covers, and complete collections of albums, with the occasional popular melody I may have happened to hear on the radio. None of it makes sense. None of it's sorted.

And all of its boring.

I search through site after site, listen to anthem after lyric after tune. Nothing is working. Nothing is numbing the pain anymore. I can't drown out the background noise, no matter how loud I turn up the volume, no matter how obnoxious the beat.

Rock. Alternative. Pop. Metal. Country. Blue grass. Folk. Classical. Jazz. Techno. Trance. Blues. Funk. Hip-hop. Rap. Indie. Grunge. Rave. Ska.

J-Pop?

Oh. It's in Japanese.

I can't understand any of this. There are so many goddamned colors. It's making my dizzy.

At least it's different. But I can't turn up the sound. Cranking such a high voice would make my fragile headphones obliterate themselves.

There are a lot of these songs.

A lot.

Too many.

It there something... Not so jumpy?

This one's a little better. A little deeper.

Good. Darker colors.

Where am I even going?

I think I've lost myself.

_Ichi-banme arisu was isamashiku~_

...

_Ken wo katate ni, fushigi no kuni~_

...Huh?

_Ironna was monowo kiri sutete~_

...What is this?

_Makkana michiwo shiite itta~_

I pause the player.

I think...

I've just discovered it.

_Sonna Arisu wa morino ou~_

_ Tsumibito no youni, tojikome rarete~_

_ Morini dekita michi igai ni~_

_ Kanojyono seiwo shiru subewa nashi~_

And then, all my world implodes.

_ Ni-banme Arisu wa otonashiku_

_ Utawo utatte, fushigi no kuni_

_ Ironna otowo afure sasete_

_ Kurutta sekaiwo umidashita_

_ Sonna Arisu wa, barano hana_

_ Ikareta otoko ni, uchi korosarete_

_ Makkana hanawo ichi-rin sakase_

_ Minnani mederare karete-yuku._

The beauty of these foreign words hurts me to my very core. As my screen flashes with death and destruction, of perfect figures of humans dancing round the bloody corpses, my eyes are trained to the mysterious second singer. One, killed by a madman. Annihilated by his own madness.

The blue one.

I look into the unreal eyes of cerulean diamond, and I see something I've never seen before.

I see myself.

I see the raw image.

And I see an emotion, unnamed in its own right, seep from those unruly irises of mystery.

And I sense a desire, unlike any I've felt before.

I must have him. I must have this. I must speak with and live by him, his family, and his perfect being.

The song goes onto its own playlist.

**A/N: If you can't already tell, this story isn't going to be pleasant.**

**The lyrics are romaji from Alice Of Human Sacrifice.**

**The first verse is Meiko, the second is Kaito.**

**If you've never heard it before, please listen! Though it's somewhat disturbing.**


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